


The Duchess and the Spy

by arcane_lark



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, Fisting, Gender or Sex Swap, Maevaris Tilani is better than you, Oral Sex, Regency Romance, butch!Bull, high femme!Dorian, one extremely brief reference to marital/corrective rape, rampant historical anachronism and slapdash borrowing from canon, seriously they are both women in this one, trashy regency romance tropes, vague Tevinter nastiness toward queer people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-23 09:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcane_lark/pseuds/arcane_lark
Summary: Doria is the Duchess of House Pavus— the only heir of a powerful and ambitious family, and a favorite of the Tevinter Regency gossip mill. The Iron Bull is a mercenary captain from the colonies, whose service to the Imperium has led her into high society with her small company in tow for several weeks of fêtes and parties.The two meet first at a soirée, then again when Bull accidentally climbs into Doria’s library window in search of letters regarding a Venatori conspiracy against the Inquisition—and despite how mismatched they may seem, the pull between them is too much to ignore. Has Doria found the answer to her problems in a seven-foot-tall Tal-Vashoth woman with one eye and the most horrid taste in clothing she’s ever witnessed?





	The Duchess and the Spy

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in this fandom, and my Adoribull Minibang entry! Born out of a longstanding love for trashy regency romance novels and a firm belief that there is not enough smutty f/f in the world—I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Art throughout is by the magnificent [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com/), who took my extensive pinterest board of regency gowns, billowing trousers, and gold jewelry in stride, and created illustrations beyond my wildest imaginings.

**_A note, delivered by raven and written in code_ **

_Captain:_

_You and the Chargers have been invited to Minrathous to be honored for Services to the Imperium— your work along the Orlesian border has not gone unnoticed. You are to accept the invitation and meet our contact in the Magisterium. She is a vivacious socialite, and will approach you at a party upon your arrival with the code phrase._

_You are tasked with ascertaining the whereabouts of and obtaining a series of letters currently in the possession of a senior Magister, which contain evidence of Venatori conspiracy against the Inquisition. Your secondary mission is to evaluate a potential asset to be tapped as an operative. Your contact will introduce you, but the decision is left to your discretion._

_As always, you are to use any and all skills and tools at your disposal to complete this mission— but, candidly, do try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum._

_Maker guide you._

_Sister Nightingale_

_PS: You may inform Lt. Aclassi that I have ensured there will be no questions about his military or family history so long as he does not leave Minrathous._

 

* * *

 

**_A fashionable estate in Minrathous; evening_ **

Near the edge of the ballroom, just far enough away from their chaperones to feel independent without any real fear of impropriety, two young women— barely more than girls _—_ dressed in classically demure gowns whispered to each other.

“ _Maker,_ just _look_ at her! How does everything she wears make her look like she stepped out of a fashion plate?”

“And it’s _wasted_ on her! How many seasons has she been out, how many offers, and accepted _none_.”

“Well, you know there is the matter of her… defect…”

“As if that were an excuse! If she knew what was good for her, she'd lie back and think of the Imperium until there's an heir and then keep separate households. Might even loosen up enough to enjoy it.”

“Don't be crude!”

“Oh hush, you know that's not even _close_ to the worst that will be said about her tonight. Her poor father, saddled with a daughter like that— shh, she's coming over here!”

The two flushed, fluttering their fans rapidly at the appearance of the evening’s hostess and the subject of their gossip _—_ Doria, Duchess of House Pavus.

“Good evening, ladies. I do hope that you are enjoying yourselves?”

She was dressed in a slim-fitting gown of peacock blue silk shot through with black, cut daringly low and wide at the neckline. A gold sash at the high waist was echoed in the intricate detailing on the sleeves and at the hem of the skirt, as well as in her filigree-and-garnet choker and earrings. A bracelet in the shape of a coiled snake wound its way down her right wrist and held her fan by a thin chain, while on her left hand she wore a delicately fashioned bracelet connected to claw-tip rings. Atop her fashionably styled hair was a silk turban, trimmed with peacock feathers. Her elegant, fine-boned features were schooled in an expression of pleasant nonchalance, but her gray eyes were sharp, and belied the deliberate nature of her inquiry.

All told, she was the picture of perfect Tevinter breeding— a lovely face and courteous word to distract from the sharp bite of a knife between the ribs.

“Oh, very much so! We were so delighted to hear that you would be hosting the welcome soirée, and you've truly outdone yourself!” the shorter one gushed nervously.

Doria sniffed. “Were you? That's quite the surprise, I'm sure that I overheard your brother and his intended when I was riding through the park last week, discussing a rather unseemly argument between you and your mother. Something about your displeasure that I would be hosting in my mother’s stead, given her absence from town this season,” she replied. She raised one arched eyebrow before continuing. “Throwing dishes? Really, at your age?”

As quickly as she had blushed, the young woman blanched. As color drained from her face, her taller companion smirked into her fan.

“I wouldn't be so smug if I were you.” Doria rounded on the remaining woman. “You talk a fine game about offers and prospects, but your parents gave your older sisters all they had for dowries, and as it turns out there's nothing left for you! Not surprising, considering they both failed to align themselves with any family of consequence while your father lost all but his land at the gambling tables. You’ll be lucky to make any sort of match at all,” she purred, tongues of purple flame gathering at the edges of her fluttering fan and terrifying the girls.

Having eviscerated the now-silent offenders to her satisfaction, Doria nodded coolly and swept away across the room, pausing halfway to curtsey at a gentleman who happened to be the second cousin of the current Archon.

The sooner the officers of the newly-landed mercenary company arrived, the better— at least then the chattering magpies would have something else to talk about.

 

* * *

 

“Maker, never thought I’d ever get inside one of those,” Krem said, leaning out of the carriage window and staring at the massive houses lining the street. “Well, not through the front door, anyway.”

The Iron Bull clapped him on the shoulder. “You sure you're good with this? I can bring one of the others, you can do inventory with Rocky instead,” she offered.

Krem chuckled. “And miss the chance to drink their fancy wine? Not on your life, Chief.”

“I’m looking forward to the tiny cakes. Do you think they’ll have those spicy ones, with the chocolate and candied orange peel on top?”

“You're looking forward to flirting, is what. Don't get too excited _—_ you know most of the redheads here will be doing it with either henna or magic,” Krem teased.

“Then sniffing out the other ones will be half the fun!” Bull grinned. She leaned back, careful not to snag her freshly-polished horns on any of the velvet upholstery. “But tonight is about the mission, Krem-puff. Meeting the Tevinter contact, being seen, getting the lay of the land before I go see what the Duke has in his study.”

“We’ll be seen, all right,” Krem agreed. “And I'll be explaining twenty times that no, you’re the Captain, not just the muscle. Are you sure it wouldn't be better for me to just sneak off during the party and find the study?”

Bull wrinkled her face in disagreement. “Too risky— they’ll be expecting someone to try something while the household is entertaining, probably some nasty security spells set up. By later tonight, everyone will be drunk, exhausted, or cleaning up. Spying is a lot more waiting around than soldiering.”

“At least the waiting around is indoors and not in the mud,” Krem replied. “Who do you think the contact will be? The hostess?”

“Hostess doesn't have a seat in the Magisterium proper, hasn’t inherited her father’s yet. We’re probably looking for a matron or dowager who hasn't let go of her seat. Someone beyond suspicion.”

Before Krem could reply, the carriage came to a halt, and a footman opened the door. He gasped when he saw Iron Bull, and called up to another footman standing at the door to the house, who nodded resolutely.

The Iron Bull grinned at the footman. “So I’m guessing we’re in the right place?” she asked as she stepped out of the carriage and drew herself up to her full height.

The footman stared up at her for a long moment, before shaking his head and seeming to remember his duty. “Welcome to House Pavus, Captain. You and your companion will be announced as you enter.”

Bull grinned. “We’ll just go ahead and do that, then. Come on, Krem _—_ I can almost taste the little cakes already.”

 

* * *

 

Maevaris Tilani stood at the base of the grand staircase and surveyed the room, noting who had arrived early and who had yet to make their entrance. Doria appeared by her side and kissed her cousin on the cheek, then flicked her fingers above the blonde’s head and sent silver bubbles of light to rest on the flowers arranged in her hair.

“Really Doria, are we schoolgirls?” Mae chided.

Doria smirked, and the bubbles popped into shimmering dust, falling and making the ruffles on the bodice of Mae’s rose-colored gown sparkle. “Hardly; when we were schoolgirls I would have set them on fire,” she replied.

“I suppose that's true, time can only do so much to temper spirits like ours,” she conceded, and brushed her fingers over Doria’s bracelet so that the snake raised its head and flicked a small gold tongue against her skin.

The sigh that Doria released was rather less cavalier than usual, and Mae turned to face her with concern. As she saw more and more often these days, the mask of insouciant defiance had given way to a look of weary resignation.

“Oh Doria, love, what’s wrong? Do I need to make plans to destroy anyone?” she asked, only partially in jest.

“Nothing so straightforward, I'm afraid,” Doria replied quietly. She loathed having these moments of vulnerability in public; knew that showing any weakness was just asking to be torn to shreds by opportunists. “Just a continuation of my slow suffocation in the name of my family, hardly even news anymore.”

Mae pursed her lips in sympathy. “I know this season is going to be hard for you, especially after the... events of last year,” she said carefully. “But please, my darling, do try to keep your spirits up. You’ll feel better once this evening is done with, I’m certain _—_ and who can say what excitement might reveal itself at any moment?”

With a deep inhale, Doria settled her shoulders and Mae watched the mask of her face rebuild itself with the arch of an eyebrow and quirk of a lip. “I’m sure you’re right, Maevaris my dear, you always do seem to be,” she replied gaily.

At that moment, a commotion at the front door caught their attention _—_ presumably the servants heralding the arrival of the foreign mercenaries. Doria closed her eyes and took another deep breath, steeling herself for rough Southern men unused to society of any sort. Then she opened them, and barely kept her jaw from dropping as two figures became visible through the crowd.

One of the figures was a well-built man with Tevinter coloring wearing an Orlesian-style uniform _—_ looking slightly uncomfortable in the aristocratic setting, but with a curious hint of defiance in the set of his jaw.

And the other.

Well. She had rather expected “The Iron Bull” to be more of a metaphorical title.

No one had seen fit to inform her that the mercenary captain was female. Or that she also happened to be a seven-foot-tall qunari with a dawnstone eyepatch and horns to rival her broad shoulders.

Doria was rooted to the floor as she watched the captain take in the room, scan the exits, and position herself near a wall with her lieutenant standing in her blind spot.

She wore a forest green Qun-style jacket in the traditional manner _—_ with no shirt beneath, knotted and woven cords across the center of her chest holding the two sides of the garment together. On her (barely covered) left breast hung several decorations that Doria vaguely recognized as honors from various kingdoms and governments not infrequently found at odds with each other. She couldn’t quite be sure, as she was trying not to stare at the way the sleeves of the jacket stretched over the captain’s muscular arms.

“What did I tell you?” Mae murmured into Doria’s ear, startling her out of her reverie.

“Maevaris Tilani, if you think for one instant that I will believe that you had no idea about this…” Doria hissed.

However, as the crowd parted around the captain, Doria caught sight of the rest of her outfit and barely kept herself from recoiling at the billowing black trousers, cuffed close at the top of her leather boots and with a wide gold stripe down the outside of each leg. The effect was not terribly dissimilar from the hot air balloons that one of the senior enchanters at the Carastes Circle had been using several years ago to research pockets of the sky where the veil was thinnest.

“Well, I think she looks quite magnificent. They say she can cleave a man in half with a single swing of a battle axe-- imagine how easily she could throw you over her shoulder!” Mae replied, unperturbed.

“I shall do no such thing! That you would even suggest it, I… really, Mae, I must go see to the guests!” Doria sputtered, then turned on her heel and darted off past another cluster of whispering young women.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes of observation and careful maneuvering later, Mae found herself close enough to hear the conversation between the two mercenaries. She waited for a pause, then turned to face them with an earnest expression. “Have you by any chance been discussing the latest Tethras novel?”

The Iron Bull’s eye widened nearly imperceptibly, but she gave the appropriate answer: “I thought the cliffhanger at the end was just cruel.”

Mae nodded. “They say he’ll set it right in spring,” she replied. “I do apologize for the interruption. I am Magister Maevaris Tilani, at your service” she said, curtseying quickly.

“The Iron Bull. Captain. But you can call me Bull,” she said, with a nod. “And this is my Lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi, but he’ll tell you to call him Krem. He’s my right hand.”

“Hands you have two of— it’s a left eye you need me to be,” he quipped, bowing.

“I’m sure she finds both immensely useful in the field,” Mae said with a smile. “And if we’re to be familiar— Mae, please.”

Bull nodded, then tilted her head slightly and gave Mae a critical look. “I see it, now. Took me a minute, but you don’t take shit from anybody, do you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mae preened, smoothing her skirts. She glanced toward the edge of the ballroom and saw Doria step away from a tray-carrying servant, making her way toward the three of them with two glasses held delicately in her hands.

“As it was intended,” Bull replied, following Mae’s gaze. “But that’s probably a topic for another time and place.”

As Doria reached the group, she held out one of the glasses and stared deliberately at Bull. “I thought you might like some refreshment, Mae darling,” she said, and took a deep breath. When she blew it out it was a stream of snow, causing both the glass and the beverage within to frost before she handed it to Mae. The remainder of the snowflakes swirled in a flurry around Bull, landing on her jacket and staying there without melting.

“I do apologize for neglecting my guests of honor for so long this evening _—_ although it seems that my cousin has been keeping you entertained in my absence,” she added. “Allow me to introduce myself _—_ Doria, Duchess of House Pavus, and your hostess tonight.” She swept into a slightly ostentatious curtsey, fluttering her fan in one slender hand.

Bull stepped forward and took Doria’s free hand in one of hers _—_ massive and gray, even missing fingers it dwarfed the mage’s delicate one. She bent down and kissed it, smiling as she felt Doria reflexively twitch beneath her lips.

Bull straightened back up, though she did not let go of Doria’s hand. “The Iron Bull. Captain of the Bull’s Chargers. I'm guessing no one warned you about me?”

Doria tried to take her hand back, but Bull held firm. She glared, and the metal of her jewelry began to glow, heating up until Bull winced and let go. “I haven't the slightest idea what you mean,” she replied haughtily.

Mae jumped in. “You’ll find my cousin a bit of a peacock— always a bit of a show with her,” she began. A quick and meaningful glance at Bull, and she continued. “Really, though, she's the sort of bird who could befriend nightingales and ravens. Likely a lion, too, and possibly even a swarm of bees.”

Krem coughed into his sleeve, barely concealing his laugh.  

Bull raised her eyebrow. “Oh? She certainly seems like she could scream like a peacock.”

“Excuse me?” Doria began, her voice rising sharply.

Bull chuckled. “Something like that. Although,” she added, looking Doria up and down. “I'd much rather make you sing like a meadowlark,” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

Doria shivered— and to her dismay found that it was not entirely out of disgust.

“You're appalling!” she hissed, a lick of orange flame slipping out of her mouth. She huffed out a thin plume of smoke, tossed her head, and stalked away with her head held high.

“Shit,” Bull muttered. “She’d fit right in.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Doria had locked herself in her private library, thoroughly relieved to be finished with the tedium of the upper echelons of Tevinter society.

The creak of the french doors caught her attention, and she froze. Her back was to the balcony, as she sat curled in an armchair wearing only a delicate nightshift and dressing gown, with a half-finished book on the latest theory out of Vyrantium and pages of scrawled notes in her lap.

A moment of silence, and then the door eased open, carefully. Nearly silently.

Doria realized that she was shielded from view by the high back of her chair, and her legs were drawn up beneath her. The intruder had no idea the room was occupied.

Her staff lay propped against the bookshelf next to her— if she had the element of surprise, she could likely lunge the meter and a half before whoever was there could stop her…

And then the intruder stepped into the room, and the light from the fireplace threw an unmistakable shadow against the bare wall.

“What in the world are _you_ doing in my library?” she asked incredulously, rising to her knees and turning around to peer over the back of the chair at the Iron Bull.

The qunari in question merely looked at her in mild surprise. “To be fair, the last floor plan of this place that I saw said this was the Duke’s study.”

Doria heaved a dramatic sigh. “That's two rooms over, now— he preferred the light at that angle.”

“Hm. In the summer, with that tree outside in full bloom? I can see it.”

“Oh yes, it's quite charming, which is why I wouldn't give it up without the promise of an entirely new wardrobe this season. However, the question still stands, regardless of whose inner sanctum you were intending to breach,” Doria chattered, hoping to keep Bull dazzled long enough to move. “Not that I mind, strictly speaking. I’m sure you heard all about my scandalous predilections from the gossips this evening, a statuesque qunari from the colonies creeping into my private library is quite up my street…”

And with that she dove for the staff, rolling back to a standing position with it outstretched toward the Iron Bull _—_

 _—_ who had moved more quickly than Doria had anticipated, considering her size, and now stood with a blade unsheathed at Doria’s throat.

  

“Not bad, for a pampered Vint,” Bull said. She swallowed, the muscles of her throat working inches from the end of Doria’s staff.

“You’ll find that all of my defects are strictly moral, I’m afraid” Doria replied dryly. “Now, would you do me the courtesy of explaining yourself?”

The Bull smiled. “I’m a spy for the Inquisition, and your cousin has given us intelligence that your father has letters regarding a plot against us that I’ve been trying to track down for months.”

Doria scoffed. “Oh, yes, a spy, of course _—_ which is precisely why you’ve just said that plainly.”

The smile broadened into a grin. “Hey, you asked. What do I have to gain from lying about it, anyway?”

They stood and glared with weapons at each other’s throats for another moment, before Doria huffed a sigh and pulled her staff back. “You are telling the truth, aren’t you.”

The Bull lowered her arm, though her grip on the shortsword did not slacken. Well enough, Doria wasn't letting the threads of the Fade she'd pulled to herself dissipate either.

“So what now?” Doria asked, finally taking in the full measure of the Bull. She had changed out of her evening uniform into equally hideous billowing trousers in a dark striped pattern and a cropped blouse that wrapped around her chest and tied at her back. Even her boots seemed to be wrapped around her powerful legs _—_ dressed for stealth and subterfuge as much as anyone her size could manage.  “I can't pretend this doesn't confirm suspicions that I've had. But if you're telling me even that much, then you’d be best served by killing me. As I prefer to continue to grace the living world with my beauty, I suppose that I must find something to offer that you would consider worth sparing my life.”

Bull shrugged. “I don't think I'll need to kill you. You don't seem especially surprised that I've just implicated your father in trying to crush the Inquisition and your cousin in supporting it, so you're both clever enough to be paying attention to what's happening around you and wise enough to keep your mouth shut. Plus, Mae trusts you.”

Doria let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, of course. How long has she been in league with you all? How did it start? Is she the only one? And what if I _don't_ agree to keep my mouth shut?”

“Slow down there, Princess,” Bull laughed. She made a show of looking Doria up and down with her one good eye, as she had done earlier in the night. “Mmm. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about things you could do with that pretty mouth other than keeping it shut.”

Doria sniffed, and surreptitiously blew a wisp of frost to quell the blush in her cheeks. “Oh?” she asked, steadfastly not letting herself wonder what the scars on the Iron Bull’s face might feel like under her fingers, her lips.

“Yeah, well. You weren't wrong before, I overheard some talk about you and— an Orlesian opera singer, was it? Definitely enough to give a dull-witted brute like me ideas.”

“That one again? How tiresome, Mirette’s company left for Antiva six months past, the poor things must be dying for something new to whisper about,” Doria sighed.

“Well, now they've got me in town. What do you think, were they more shocked by the rack or the fact that I can speak in full sentences?” Bull asked. “Ooh, or was it the biceps?” she added, sheathing her shortsword and flexing as she did so.

Doria realized that Bull had been moving slightly, shifting and angling her body, and that Doria had been unconsciously countering her until she had placed herself backed up against her desk, with all seven feet of the Iron Bull looming over her.

It should have been frightening, repulsive even, but instead she found it intoxicating.

“I was rather too distracted by those dreadful uniform trousers,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly.

Bull chuckled, a low rumble. “Worse than Orlesians, you Vints.”

And then she leaned down, wrapping one massive arm around Doria’s waist and forcing her up on her toes, and kissed her soundly.

Doria had kissed and been kissed many times over the years, from schoolgirl explorations in the Circle dormitories to torrid encounters in the back rooms of seedy establishments and most places in between.

Being kissed by The Iron Bull, much to her surprise and delight, eclipsed them all.

She was _warm_ — the hand splayed across the better part of Doria’s back practically _burned_ — and she smelled like smoke and spice, and when she tilted her head and deepened the kiss, Doria found herself throwing one arm around her neck to keep from losing her balance as she kissed back.

Bull responded by grabbing her thigh with her free hand and lifting Doria without a trace of effort, setting her down on the desk.

Doria pulled back, breathing harder than she was willing to admit— although she felt a bright pang of satisfaction that the Bull wasn't much better off.

“If we’re doing this here…” she muttered, taking a deep breath to focus herself before sweeping the staff she still somehow held at the piles of papers and books on the desk so that they levitated into neat stacks on the floor against the wall. Satisfied, she cast a silencing spell around them and rested the staff against the edge of the desk.

“Now then,” she said as she leaned back on her elbow. “I do believe you were beginning to ravish me?”

“You bet I was,” Bull replied, pulling Doria to the edge of the desk and settling herself between her legs.

The sash of Doria’s dressing gown had loosened, and the slippery robe was sliding down her shoulder, revealing an enticing expanse of golden-brown skin not covered by her gossamer shift. Bull leaned close, breathing in the remaining traces of a languid floral perfume and making Doria shudder. She kissed the edge of her collarbone once, twice, and ran her tongue up the side of Doria’s neck.

Doria gasped, and flung the hand clutching Bull’s neck up, grabbing the base of her right horn instead.

“Mmm, yeah, you can do that _all_ you want,” she growled into Doria’s ear.

Doria laughed breathlessly, and wrapped her free hand around Bull’s left horn, digging her fingernails into the skin at the base. “So that _is_ true, not just something they made up for the penny dreadfuls?” she purred. “Lucky me.”

The response was a sharp nip at her ear, and a squeeze from the hand on her thigh before that same hand slid up and pulled open her dressing gown.

Doria shivered at the feel of the cooler air against her skin and turned her head to kiss Bull fiercely again as she squeezed the base of her horns, all pretense left behind. It had been too long since she’d had the luxury of either privacy or time with an encounter, and while the late hour and silencing spell made it unlikely that anyone in the household would investigate, she had no desire to take chances.

Bull clearly was of the same mind, as her free hand ran up and down Doria’s side, thumb sweeping over her nipple with each pass. Giving Doria’s breast a last squeeze, she dropped her hand back down and began to inch her nightgown up, collecting the fabric in her palm.

Doria hummed and drew her leg up against Bull’s side, bare skin against rough spun cloth. She released her grip on her horns and leaned back on her elbows, fixing the qunari with a heavy-lidded gaze and daring her to take the next step.

Bull slid her hand to the inside of Doria’s thigh and squeezed, digging her blunted claws into the soft flesh and making Doria gasp. She chuckled at the noise, drawing her fingers higher until they hovered a hairsbreadth from where Doria wanted them.

She tried to arch up, but Bull moved again, faster than she expected, and the hand that had been at her back was now holding her hips down, keeping her in place. She glared up at the smirking face. “I don't need that staff to set you on fire, you know,” she hissed.

The Bull snorted, but pressed her fingers against Doria all the same.

“Fuck, you're already so _wet_ ,” she growled, sliding her fingers between Doria’s folds and brushing them over her clit— gently at first, gauging how much she could take, and then more firmly when Doria dropped her head back, whined and tried again in vain to thrust her hips. “Oh, you do like this, don't you. Spreading your legs for a marauding Qunari who crept through your window while you were reading— what, dirty novels?”

Doria let out a laugh mixed with a gasping moan when Bull began moving her fingers faster. “A treatise on... the different methods of raising the dead on... on a battlefield to continue fighting, actually... which I am penning an _especially_ cutting response to,” she replied breathlessly.

When Bull stopped moving in surprise, she looked up and fixed her with a defiant gaze. “I’m no more the idle and decorative heiress than you are the dumb horned brute,” she added. She took the opportunity to grind her hips firmly up against Bull’s large, calloused hand, and tugged her down by one horn to nip at her neck.

She tasted like sweat and incense, and when Doria bit down firmly she let out a purring growl that went straight to the pit of her belly, clearly willing to overlook the strange choice of reading material.

Bull began moving her hand again, experimenting until she found an angle that made Doria’s legs tremble. “That's it…” she growled into Doria’s ear, “idle heiress or not, a sweet little cunt like yours is too good to leave unsatisfied. Bet you’re just aching for something to fill it up,” she added, teasing one finger at Doria’s opening. “You gonna tell me how bad you want it?”

“Don't be so Maker-forsaken smug about it,” Doria groused against Bull’s neck.

“Guess that's a no, then…” Bull sighed dramatically, starting to pull her hand away.

“ _Kaffas_ , yes!” she hissed. “Now if you would be so kind as to stop teasing and _fuck_ me?” 

“If you insist, Princess.”

She moaned as Bull slid one thick finger inside her, careful but insistent, and then another. Bull worked her body, one hand at her cunt and the other holding her hip just hard enough to bruise, and Doria soon found herself gasping her way through two fluttering orgasms, fingers digging into the base of the Bull’s horns.

She slipped one hand down to grab at the Bull’s wrist, stilling her movement before pulling her hand up and taking two fingers in her mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned in satisfaction as she sucked Bull’s fingers clean of her own juices, tongue flicking teasingly as she went.

The rumbling emanating from Bull’s chest was unlike anything Doria had ever heard before— a predatory sound of pleasure that went straight to her already-sensitive cunt.

“Pretty as this picture is,” she said— voice low, directly into Doria’s ear— “I was looking forward to that part myself.”

Doria hummed lazily, pulling the Bull’s fingers out of her mouth with an obscene pop and licking her lips.

And then she was flat on her back on the desk, legs splayed, with Bull crouched between them.

“If you want me to stop, just say _katoh_ , or tap the top of my head three times,” Bull instructed, meeting Doria’s eyes with her own. “But other than that… be a good girl, and try not to set anything on fire.” And then she blinked her one good eye meaningfully.

“Was that intended to be a _wink_ , or are you _—_ _oh!_ ”

Doria’s indignant question was cut off by a squeal as Bull leaned in and licked a wide stripe up her cunt.

“ _Fuck,_ you taste even better than I thought,” she said, before burying herself again between Doria’s thighs.

As a schoolgirl, Doria had discovered a classical Tevinter poem about a maiden conquered by raiding Qunari that had puzzled her as she had painstakingly translated it under the covers in her dormitory bed. The appeal of such conquest had not escaped her, although she had found the endless metaphors for the phallus off-putting.

Bull hummed and brought one arm up to pin down Doria’s hips, a firm weight that Doria realized she could not _—_ and did not want to _—_ escape. In truth, she could struggle as much as she desired, and Bull would still hold her in place. The thought sent a frisson through her entire body, and she keened in pleasure.

She felt Bull’s tongue flicking against her, licking _inside_ her… and thought vaguely that perhaps she should pen a modern response about this infinitely more tempting manner of being conquered. She let out a gasping giggle, that quickly turned into a moan.

Bull responded by sliding two fingers back inside Doria’s cunt and crooking them up firmly, nipping at her trembling thighs before returning her mouth to her clit.

The rush of sensations flooded Doria’s consciousness, and there were no more thoughts of poetry. There was only her body, and Bull, and the feeling building between her legs; a steadily mounting potential that felt like cusp of a magical breakthrough or the brush of the fade in her dreams.

“I’m… oh, Bull, please!” she moaned, and threw one arm over her face. “I’m… oh, oh _Maker_ , _yes!_ ”

“ _That’s_ it," Bull growled against her, pressing her fingertips more firmly against the sensitive spot on her inner walls.

And with a high-pitched squeal, she came, drenching Bull’s face as she arched up, folded nearly double, and grabbed one horn. Bull’s arm held her in place as she trembled through the aftershocks.

When her higher brain function returned and she thought to look down, Bull was sitting cross-legged on the floor and wiping her face with her sleeve, grinning like a dragon. “Told you I could make you sing,” she said.

Doria groaned and dropped her head back onto the desk with a thump. “Is there by any chance a way to get you to stop being so smug?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways, if you’re not too tired out…”

Doria sat up, slid her dressing gown fully off of her shoulders, and looked Bull square in the eye. “Far be it from me to remain in your debt, Captain,” she purred, and slid off the desk to kneel in front of Bull, face to face. “If you’ll remove those hideous trousers, I might have an idea or two of my own.” 

Bull laughed, but moved to unbuckle her wide sword belt and unlace the waist of her pants all the same. She set the belt and sword aside, then uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to loosen the cuffs of her trousers.

Doria slid her hands up over the coarse fabric of Bull’s boots, absently noting the bulk of a brace on one ankle, and grabbed the opened cuffs of her trousers.

Bull planted her feet on either side of Doria’s body and arched her hips up so that Doria could pull the offending garment off, maneuvering her body so that when Doria had tossed them aside and turned back…

Well. Bull certainly knew how to display herself _—_ legs splayed, leaning back on one elbow and reaching down with the other hand to circle two fingers lazily around her clit.

Doria swore in Tevene and threw herself on top of the qunari, kissing her messily and raking her fingernails down her sides.

Bull chuckled against her lips as Doria grabbed her wrist and tugged it away from her clit, replacing large calloused fingers with slender and dextrous ones. She flicked her fingers once, and then dipped them into Bull’s dripping cunt as Bull groaned low into her mouth.

Doria moved to nip sharply at Bull’s neck. “So, Captain,” she murmured.  “What shall I do with you? Shall we see how much you can take?”

Bull canted her hips up and laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, Princess? You gonna fuck me with your whole fist?”

Doria grinned dangerously. “I’m certainly going to try,” she replied. “A moment, though.”

The difference in their sizes suggested that this would be a deliberate but not fundamentally difficult endeavor. Still _—_ she glanced to a nearby bookshelf and reached out her free arm, causing a thick volume from the bottom shelf to float toward her. She opened it to reveal a hollowed out chamber with a vial inside.

Bull craned her neck to see what Doria had summoned, and laughed as she watched her coat one hand with the slick contents of the vial. “Damn, Princess, you do this a lot in here?”

“It’s Duchess, not Princess,” Doria responded primly. Then, without warning or preamble, she slid three fingers deep into Bull’s cunt. “And I do like to be prepared for any eventuality,” she added over Bull’s pleased groan.

Bull was tight around her thrusting fingers, but Doria could feel her relaxing further, wet and ready. She thrilled at the thought _—_ all of this power, all at her mercy _—_ and brought her other hand to Bull’s clit.

Bull moaned and tipped her head back when Doria added a fourth finger and slowed her movements. She had made up her mind after their introduction at the soirée to bring Doria into the Inquisition fold, but the unexpected turn of events in the library had her reconsidering the scope of the offer. She knew Krem and Adaar would give her shit for playing Tama, but she could already see the potential in this clever and proud woman.

A sharp nip on her inner thigh brought her attention back to the present, and she looked down to find Doria staring up at her.

“Am I boring you?” she asked lightly, twisting the fingers buried in Bull’s cunt. “I’d hope not, as I am far too pretty to be ignored.”

And then before Bull could reply she withdrew her hand, coated it with more slick oil, and tucked her thumb against the rest of her fingers. “Shall I see if I can recapture your attention?” Bull took a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing as Doria steadily worked her hand into her cunt. She moaned low in her throat _—_ slender as Doria’s hand was, the stretch was intense and the knowledge that it was only going to get more so had her growing even wetter in anticipation.

“That’s it, just like that,” Doria murmured, eyes now fixed on her cunt. “Look at you, you’re loving this. Not so dangerous now, are you? Just had to pet you right and you're purring like a kitten. Nearly there, just a bit more,” she crooned, working her way in until the widest part of her hand was all that remained.

Bull was panting now, her hips moving in short thrusts. “Go on… Princess.”

Doria laughed, and shifted the angle of her arm— just slightly, a minor adjustment all that it took for the rest of her hand to slip inside, so that she was fucking the Bull with her entire fist. She could feel the walls of Bull’s cunt rippling around her as she growled, and the scent of sweat mixed with her arousal and the oil made Doria lightheaded.

“What do you need?” she asked softly, beginning to move her fist slowly. “Just like this, or…”

“ _Fuck_ … yes, my clit too, and also this… _hard,”_ Bull managed to say through her gasps of pleasure.

“Aye, Captain,” Doria said, and brought her free hand to press against Bull’s clit and rub hard circles in counterpoint to the thrusting of her fist.

She had never heard anyone make the sounds that Bull was making now, and she was captivated. They were low and primal, utterly unconcerned with anything other than pleasure. They built to an urgent crescendo, and then Bull fell silent _—_ her eye wild, mouth open in a soundless cry _—_ and she clutched at Doria’s shoulder with one hand.

Doria felt the walls of her cunt clench around her hand and wrist, and leaned into Bull with her full body weight to fuck her hard through her orgasm.

As Bull’s shudders subsided, Doria stilled her motions, tracing her fingers in soothing patterns on Bull’s hip. Bull’s breath hitched as she slowly withdrew her hand, and stared at it appraisingly.

Basking in the afterglow of the unexpected liaison, Bull didn't try to figure out what Doria was thinking. After all, she would almost certainly be sure to let Bull know if it was anything interesting.

Flicking her eyes upward and holding Bull’s heavy-lidded gaze with her own, Doria licked up the palm of her hand and sucked three fingers in her mouth, savoring the taste of Bull’s juices as she had her own. With a devious smirk, she wiped her hands clean on the discarded trousers before tossing them back to Bull. “There, now they're slightly less dreadful.”

Bull laughed, but as she watched Doria her face grew serious.

“Come with me. When I leave, in three months, I want you on that boat with me and my Chargers.”

Doria looked up, stricken. “You’ve just met me. I'm hardly fit for a mercenary soldier, and I'm… I'm not going to run off just to be your plaything,” she replied stiffly.

Bull sat up, now alert and urgent. “No, not that! Fuck, I mean, come to Skyhold with us. Join the Inquisition. We could really use someone like you, someone clever and perceptive, someone refined _—_ and a damn good mage from what I can tell. And you wouldn't have to put up with all the fucking crap everyone here gives you,” she explained.

She could tell that Doria was struggling not to close off, to reply with a biting sneer and throw her out of the library. And so she leaned forward, grabbed Doria’s hand, and brought it to her scarred lips.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it would suit you. What we just did... Doria, I promise that fucking isn’t a condition of that offer _—_ if you never want to touch me again you could still come with us. I can’t say I wouldn’t be disappointed, because that was fucking _excellent_ , but you wouldn’t be my plaything, no matter what,” she added.

Doria took in a shuddering breath _—_ wasn’t this the sort of thing she had been fantasizing about, secret even from Mae? To escape the oppressive weight of expectations, to be somewhere that she wouldn’t have to calculate how any given word or action would send ripples of gossip through society’s web? To do _good _—__ real, tangible good for people who needed help?

“I… I have to think about it,” she managed to murmur, staring at her hand in Bull’s. “I need time to think.”

Bull squeezed her hand and grinned again.

A high pitched chime, accompanied by the flashing of red bubbles of light from the doorway, interrupted them from further conversation. In an instant, Bull was tugging her trousers on and fastening her sword belt at her waist.

“Those are just wards,” Doria whispered. “Someone’s entered the hallway _—_ and at this hour, it’s probably not my father.”

“Whoever it is, if there’s a chance they could come in then I shouldn’t be found here,” Bull replied.

Doria nodded, rising to her feet and slipping her dressing gown back over her shoulders. Her hair had come unpinned on one side, and her makeup was smudged around her eyes— a look which Bull relished after the carefully crafted perfection of earlier in the evening.

Once again dressed, Bull pulled herself up to standing, leaning on the desk. “Okay. Let me know when you've thought about it. Mae knows how to get word to me without raising suspicion.”

Doria nodded mutely, her eyes fixed on the wooden inlay decorating the edge of the desk.

“Hey,” Bull said softly. She slipped her arm around Doria’s waist, and Doria leaned into her bulk, tilting her head up to inhale Bull’s scent: sweat and sex and that spice that Doria still could not identify.

The chime sounded again, and Bull squeezed Doria briefly before she sprang into action: darting out the French doors to the balcony and vaulting over the railing.

Doria picked up her staff and followed, leaning over the edge as Bull began climbing down the trellis.

“Do me a favor? Keep an eye out for those letters. They’ll help us shut down some really nasty shit,” Bull said. “Well, we’ll shut it down no matter what, but with those letters in our hands a lot less people are gonna die,” she amended.

“Yes, yes, I'll see what I can find. And get word to you through Mae,” Doria whispered back. “And be careful, I don't want to have to rescue you from a demon if you set off one of the estate’s traps.”

Bull laughed softly, and blinked— no, _winked_ again. “Maybe another time, Princess.”

Doria had just enough time to cast a barrier on her before she was gone, climbing down and picking her way through the shadows across the estate grounds.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional thanks to my steadfast cheerleader [choptail](https://choptail.tumblr.com/), who I can always count on to listen to my absurd AU ideas and encourage me to run with them. You're magnificent, and I'm lucky to know you. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [teaandcathair](http://teaandcathair.tumblr.com/)!


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